


still i find you (next to me)

by tchallas



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Romantic Fluff, i guess ?? Lol, theyre jus bein cute and Harry’s in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tchallas/pseuds/tchallas
Summary: He’s on the car ride home from a show when Zayn calls.





	still i find you (next to me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shaolins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaolins/gifts).



> we don’t proof read in this home so if there’s any mistakes sorry gays

He’s on the car ride home from a show when Zayn calls.

For some reason, his heart seems to catch in his throat and he sucks in a slow breath, swiping to accept the call.

“Hey,” he says and then wonders, briefly, if it sounds too casual.

Harry’s never been good with words but now, with Zayn on the other line, it seems worse. But then again, how should he talk to his ex who he occasionally visits for a fuck?

The thought makes him want to laugh, almost bitterly, at his own foolishness.

“Hey.” Zayn replies, voice smooth and almost nervous.

He remembers what Zayn’s voice sounds like, raspy and low. He remembers the way his chest vibrated against Harry’s ear when he spoke, fingertips brushing absently in Harry’s hair, fussing in an almost annoyed way when his fingers got caught in the thick brown tangles.

It sounds different now.

“Harry?” Zayn’s voice, crackling slightly, snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “yeah, what’s up?”

“You’re in Miami, right?” Zayn’s voice goes quiet.

“Yeah,” Harry replies and then, heart hammering slightly, waits for Zayn’s response.

“You wanna come over?”

And he knows already, without even thinking of the consequences, that this is a bad idea. And some part in his brain, some minuscule voice, insists that this won’t end well for Harry. 

With a sigh, Harry tunes it out and then nods to himself, “yeah,” he squeezes his eyes shut, “yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

—

Zayn texts him the address which he mutters to his driver and half an hour later, he’s parked outside Zayn’s rented home.

“I’ll call you, thanks,” he tells his driver, and then he’s outside on the paved sidewalk, standing alone in the warm night air.

Zayn opens the door for him and ushers him inside with an easy, crooked smile. And it’s been months since he’s seen Zayn in person, months since he was the recipient of that wonderful, lazy smile and for a moment, it becomes overwhelming to see him standing by the door in a grey hoodie and basketball shorts.

“You changed your hair.” He says abruptly, unable to help himself.

Zayn gives him a sharp laugh, a startlingly endearing sound, “are you surprised?”

Harry shakes his head and then offers Zayn a small smile, shrugging, “nah, you’re always changing your hair.”

Zayn runs a hand through the crop of loose, blond strands and tips his chin up slightly, “do you like it?”

Harry nods, “yeah,” he pauses, “it looks good.”

Zayn smiles.

—

They drink shitty beer and Zayn insists that he cook something for Harry, hopping off of the counter in his kitchen to rummage through the fridge.

“I don’t have much,” Zayn says and then there’s the laugh, the wonderful, raspy laugh, and Harry nods, ignoring the flutter in his stomach.

“I have hash browns,” he says, snatching a half empty bag out of the freezer, shaking it into a pan when Harry gestures for him to go for it.

“How have you been?” He asks, unable to lift his gaze off of Zayn who stands by the stove, stirring the hash browns in the pan with a spatula absently.

“Good,” he nods, almost thoughtfully to himself and then turns to Harry, “finished up my album.”

“That’s good news,” he replies, taking a slow sip of his beer.

Zayn stirs the hash browns, free hand tapping rhythmically against the counter, “heard you’ve started your tour, mate.”

Harry nods, “played a few shows, love the crowds and their energy.”

It’s nice, performing again. The stage is an almost comforting place.

Zayn hums, pushing the hash browns into a plate before reaching back into the fridge and producing a bottle of ketchup.

“Sounds like fun,” Zayn says, pushing the plate towards Harry, handing him a fork.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, Harry doing most of the eating since he realizes he hasn’t eaten since before his show and Zayn picking at the hash browns on the corner of the plate, opting to sip his beer instead.

“I can make some more,” Zayn offers when Harry’s done and he shakes his head, finishing off his beer.

“All good, thanks,” he stands, putting the plate into the sink before following Zayn towards the couch.

Silence falls heavy for a moment as Zayn drinks his beer and Harry stretches his legs a little. Briefly, he wonders why he was so afraid to come here. It’s always been that way; some part of Harry is always unsure and skeptical of seeing Zayn and when they’re face to face, it never seems to be as bad as he conjures it up to be in his mind.

“I’m glad you called,” Harry says carefully, ducking his head slightly.

Zayn makes a noise of agreement, shifting his position. His basketball shorts ride up slightly and his thigh brushes absently against Harry’s.

“Glad you came, Harry,” he turns, mouth twitching upwards into a bare smile.

Zayn’s eyes, warm and lidded and so, so familiar, don’t shift away from his and Harry, unable to stop himself, tilts forward, one hand resting on Zayn’s thigh, and kisses him.

It seems like the right thing to do; Zayn’s hand flies up to his bicep, fingertips gripping firmly at his shirt as he adjusts himself, turning his upper body to angle their mouths better.

He tastes of awful beer, mouth slick and warm. The feeling of Zayn’s mouth against his, Harry realizes, has always been familiar.

“I missed you,” Zayn mumbles in between kisses, hand sliding up to the nape of Harry’s neck, clever fingers sliding into his hair.

Harry’s heartbeat speeds up a little, thumping steadily against his rib cage and he nods, “yeah, Z,” he manages to say, nipping gently at his bottom lip, “missed you too.”

Something warm and pleasant vibrates inside his chest as he fumbles against the hem of Zayn’s hoodie, slipping one hand under, brushing against miles of warm, tan skin. 

He lets his fingertips trace the knobs of Zayn’s spine, grinning when Zayn shivers slightly against Harry’s, fingers tightening in Harry’s hair.

They pull away, the space between them small as Zayn nudges his nose against Harry’s cheekbone, eyelashes fluttering against Harry’s temple, mouth pressing gentle kisses against his cheek.

“Come to bed, yeah?” Zayn breathes, eyes lidded, mouth pink and slick, fingers sliding into the spaces between Harry’s, gripping tightly.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, dazed and then kisses Zayn again, a little harder and sharper before pulling away and standing up, “yeah.”


End file.
